


Learned by Touch

by autoschediastic



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Father/Son Incest, M/M, Parent/Child Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-31
Updated: 2013-10-31
Packaged: 2017-12-31 02:51:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1026405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/autoschediastic/pseuds/autoschediastic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kink Meme fill for <a href="http://pacificrimkink.livejournal.com/2747.html?thread=3232187#t3232187">this prompt</a>: Herc loves finger-fucking and stretching Chuck. Chuck finds being in such a passive position with so much attention being paid to his ass to be very embarrassing. Watching his son turn into a squirming, swearing, red-faced wreck only makes it hotter for Herc.</p>
<p>
  <em>The sheets tearing loose from the edge of the mattress startles Chuck into opening his eyes.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Learned by Touch

The sheets tearing loose from the edge of the mattress startles Chuck into opening his eyes. Braced above him, Herc takes full advantage, fingers pushing deep while his boy's gaze is caught and held. He crooks his fingers, strokes tender, clutching insides and doesn't bother to hold back a groan as Chuck begins to tremble, then to shake. What countless drifts have hinted at, his hands (strong, capable hands, hands he sees so often in memories not his own) have learned by touch: Chuck craves the fullness, not just the fuck. He'll take either, but it's his body filled and pushed to the limit that stains his face and chest red. It's being laid out flat on his back, knees bent and spread slutty-wide and the lights blazing bright on bare, vulnerable flesh that digs under his skin.

When Herc lets the pressure ease only to fuck back in again, just as slow and just as hard, Chuck's eyes flash wide. They slip shut again as a breathy, broken noise leaks free. His hips lift, his fists twist harder at the sheets, a mute plea Herc basks in but ignores, the same as he ignored Chuck's curses five minutes ago and the bargain he tried to strike ten minutes before that. Manoeuvres that morning ran long, a fried wire in Striker's left ankle of all places leaving them immobile in the Drift while diagnostics tracked it down, and Chuck more than any Ranger Herc's ever known has trouble shaking the post-handshake wallows. He crashes about like a storm, whips himself to a frenzy in the gym, wanks in the showers without a care in the world for who's watching, and none of it does a thing to fit the kid back into his own skull.

This--Herc's fingers slipping free again, his hands stroking Chuck's thighs, his low moan as Chuck's hole twitches and cock grows fatter under the scrutiny, even while Chuck flushes a deeper crimson--doesn't put Chuck back in his head, either; it pushes him even further out of it. He claws at the pillows shoved aside by his squirming, at Herc's back when Herc gets close enough to kiss him, and he'll turn bright red at the sight of those marks in the morning, too, even while his dick's going stiff over it.

The noise he makes when Herc whispers, “My boy, look at you,” into his open, panting mouth strikes Herc to the core. Chuck's got a vulgar streak a mile wide but he learned it from his daddy, and he's got no breath to speak anyway as Herc thumbs at his stretched rim, tells him it's such a pretty, pink little thing on its own but it looks so much better with Herc's fingers shoved in it. “Feels better too, doesn't it,” he says, not a question. Chuck's miserable moan isn't an answer, and neither is the way his cock jerks, leaking all over his heaving belly. There's no answer to a question that doesn't need asking.

When Herc settles back again to watch--he can't not see this, every time, all of Chuck's strength sapped, his bluster gone, nothing left for him except Herc's touch--Chuck turns his face away, hides it in his shoulder like it finally is too much. He groans, “Dad,” like a curse and a plea, but he won't say please. The same as he pushes at Herc, taunts and goads to get what he wants, he'll never say please. Sometimes, Herc's sure, his boy knows that he doesn't have to.

“Daddy's got you,” Herc says, and where once that would have made his guts churn, bile sear his throat, now it only worsens the ache in his balls. His mouth floods wet so he lets saliva gather on the point of his tongue, drip onto his fingers. The long-healed tear in his wrist is acting up but Chuck's breathing has gone quick and shallow. “That's it, sweetheart,” Herc coaxes, forcing his own body's complaints aside as he steals glances at Chuck's face, the pleasure-sharp twist of it. “You've been so good for me, made your daddy proud, but I'm aching to see you come. I know you're aching for me to see it, aren't you, boy? Dying to make me feel as good as you do.”

“Fuck,” Chuck grates, his eyes gone wide, wild, “fuck, _fuck_.” It's the hardest thing in the world for Herc to hold back, keep the rhythm steady, not shove his fingers as hard and as fast into Chuck as he can get, drive the orgasm straight out of him. Chuck's never easy like this but when he comes, it's more than worth it. The long, low groan that's ripped out of him almost finishes Herc there, and as bad as Herc wants to get a hand on Chuck's cock while the come pulses out of him, it's better still to do it from the inside out, watch as Chuck's belly is streaked white.

Chuck groans another ragged curse, his body going loose everywhere but where Herc's fingers are still in him. He says, “Fuck,” a couple more times, almost under his breath, and then, “Fuck me,” still not asking, “fuck me, Dad, just--”

“Ssh,” whispers Herc, rising to his knees, “I told you,” pushing raw into his boy and soaking up his strangled yell. “Daddy's got you.”


End file.
